


The Little Match man

by Nour386



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nour386/pseuds/Nour386
Summary: Stuck in some far off town with nothing but a basket of matches to his name; will Stanley Pines find a guiding light or be snuffed out?





	The Little Match man

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this thing in a single sitting over about an hour? So sorry if it majorly sucks.

Stanley walked around the town. His car was totalled and beyond repair against a tree just outside of town. All there was to his name were a bunch of matches and other knickknacks he had pinched a couple of towns ago. With winter pouring down and his funds a painful low, Stanley was forced to walk around this foreign town. 

 

The garbage cans rustled in ways that rubbed Stanley the wrong way; the townsfolk looked at him with a suspicious eye, some nodded to him as though they’d met before. Often laughing at him as he spent his days calling out to them, asking, begging for someone and anyone to purchase his wares.

 

The days crawled by, like ants carrying their harvest back to the nest. However, unlike a group of ants, Stanley had no progress . Instead he found himself sitting in a darkened alleyway, penniless and shivering. The snow was now ankle deep and he had lost one of his sneakers to the white carpet that covered the sidewalk. 

 

With shaking fingers, Stanley reached for the basket of matches that sat beside him. He had gone to great lengths to make sure that they didn't get wet. Unfortunately, that effort went unnoticed by the uncaring populace of the town. Stanley placed the basket on his lap, hoping that the dry fibres would warm his shivering body. 

 

They did not. 

 

With much trepidation, he took a match from one of the many bundles in the basket. He spun the match between his fingers, feeling the square-shaped wood. These old-timey cigar lighters were his last hope . Taking a shaky breath, Stanley struck the match against the wall behind him. 

 

The alleyway was illuminated with a warm orange glow. Sighing with relief, Stanley brought the match to his chest, cupping it with his free hand. After spending so many days trudging through snow, this tiny glimpse of warmth felt heavenly. 

 

Staring into the flame, Stanley could swear that he could see the image of his mother cheerfully cooking in the kitchen of his childhood home; a jaunty tune on her lips as she stirred a bowl. To his left, he could make out the sight of his brother sitting at the kitchen table, his nose deeply seated in a book. But Stanley could tell he was smiling behind the thick volume. 

 

The flame died as quickly as it had come to be. Stanley could feel tears pricking his eyes as he begged for the vision the flame had given him to return. Desperate to see his mother's smile again, he  struck another match. His toes wiggled as the alley was once again veiled in orange light.

 

Stanford had put his book down, his hand waving wildly as he spoke about the tales within the volume. Their mother nodded along as he spoke, a smile plastered across her face. She poured the batter she was stirring into a pan and placed it into the oven. Her voice was like an echo in the wind as she turned to Stanley. 

 

"What?" he asked, cupping a hand behind his ear.

 

Before he could hear what she had to say, she and the rest of his childhood kitchen were blown away. Stanley cursed as his shivering fingers reached for the largest match he had. In an instant he was back home.

 

"Stanley what's the matter? You're shiverin' terribly." His mother said, walking over to him. 

 

"Yeah, are you okay Stanley?" Stanford asked, concern tinting his voice.

 

"'M fine" Stanley lied through chattering teeth. His toes cried out for the fuzzy socks his grandmother had gotten him for Hanukkah. His chest begged for the warmth of his blanket upstairs. But he ignored them all as he put on a brave face for his mother.

 

"Lee you look like a leaf, you're obviously cold. Want me to get dad to close the door to the shop?" Stanford offered.

 

"I said I'm fine" Stanley protested, his voice shaky and uneven. 

 

"well if yer cold or not I'm sure ya couldn't turn down a cup of hot cocoa." His mother smiled, seeing right through his facade. 

 

"I guess so." Stanley replied, pretending to think over her offer.

 

"Can I have some too?" Stanford asked

 

"Sure thing sweetie." Their mother smiled, pouring out a third mug

 

Stanley held his mug. He could almost feel the warmth of the drink through the ceramics. A couple of marshmallows obscured his reflection as he stared down. 

 

"Don't let it freeze over," his mother joked, taking a sip from her own mug.

 

Looking to his left, Stanley watched his brother blow away the steam from his own mug before taking a sip. A blissful smile spread across Stanford's face before he tried to down the mug as quickly as he could.

 

Glancing down again, Stanley felt a smile of his own grow as he raised the mug to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

"Stanford, I know ya like ta think that ya know the town like the back of yer hands, but stickin' to the main streets is just gonna get ya trampled." Fiddleford said, dragging his partner down an alleyway. 

 

"I don't see why you're so against it." Stanford protested, carrying several plastic bags in his hands. "After all it's faster to take the main road back than it is to twist and turn through the back streets."

 

"Foot traffic is still a thing. 'Specially with people buyin' so much stuff for 

Christmas an' Hanukkah. The street'll just filled with people blockin' yer way."  Fiddleford shot back, carefully stepping into the shin deep snow. "Lord. It gets worse every year." he muttered under his breath.

 

"Foot Traffic? There were hardly 10 people walking on the sidewalk in its entirety. If we came for groceries later your argument would have held more water. However it was 

by your own suggestion that we came here so early." Stanford replied, following Fiddleford's lead through the alley.

 

"And how many people would have had the same idea, Stanford?" Fiddleford asked, "It'd only be a matter of time until half the town comes thunderin' down the road like  pack of gnomes."

 

"Fair point." Stanford replied after a beat.

 

The pair walked in silence for a few minutes. The sound of the snow crunching beneath their shoes and the crinkling of cheap grocery store bags filled the air as they made their way down the alley.

 

"What on earth?" Fiddleford exclaimed, stopping suddenly. Stanford wasn't paying attention and bumped into his assistant.

 

"What is it?" Stanford asked, taking a step back. He followed his partner's line of sight to find a human shaped pile of snow lying down in the snow. There was a snow covered basket by his legs. 'Did we find a sleeping sentient snowman?' he thought.

 

Fiddleford wordlessly knelt down and touched the snowman. He jumped back when he felt something solid beneath the snow. Looking at where he placed his hand, he saw the red of a winter coat that the store down the road had on sale. 

 

He glanced back at his partner. They shared a grief-filled look, and Fiddleford started to shake the snow covered body.

 

"Could someone even survive sleeping in this kind of cold?" Stanford asked as more and more snow fell off the body. Ignoring the growing coldness in his fingers, Fiddleford watched as a thin hood, torn up jeans and a couple of burnt-out matches were revealed.

 

Suddenly, Fiddleford stopped shaking the man. His fingers felt number than they already were as he stared at the man's face. 

 

"Who is it?" Stanford asked, concerned at Fiddleford's prolonged silence. "Is it someone we know?"

 

"Did you have a brother?" Fiddleford asked, as he stepped back, granting Stanford a better view of the body before them. Fiddleford  was silent as he tried to process what he saw.

 

"I did, why-" Stanford cutting himself off when he caught sight of the bone-white face in the snow. He dropped the groceries as he fell to his knees. "No...Stanley?" he whispered.

 

With much hesitation, Stanford reached a six-fingered hand towards the cold face that look eerily like his own. There was no two-ways about it, the more he stared, the more he wanted to deny it. But as the tears began to prick the corners of his eyes, Stanford had to admit that the man with the blissful smile before him was indeed his twin brother.

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE!!!   
> Who saw that ending coming a mile away?
> 
> I've been meaning to write a little match girl au for a long while now. And now I finally got to get that out of the way, so yay me.


End file.
